


(I found love) Where it wasn't supposed to be

by Shadi612



Series: Universal Constants Remix [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Peter Pan & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - In Storybrooke | Cursed, Baby Fic gone wrong, Cursed Storybrooke, English is not the author's first language, F/M, Peter Pan is not Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold's Father, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 19:13:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17772635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadi612/pseuds/Shadi612
Summary: Nobody around them thinks they’re going to make it. They’re each other’s ruin they said. And god, she knows they’re doomed in so many ways, how bad they’re for each other in other ways but she also knows she’s happy. She’s so fucking happy.'He makes me happy' is all that comes to her mind.(An 'Universal Constants' Remix)





	(I found love) Where it wasn't supposed to be

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, darling pandom! Here's my (very belated) remix of UC and a little bit of a gift for my favorite fandom

**I.**

“What a _scam_ ”

This is _not_ how she wanted to spend Valentine’s Day. Or any other fucking day for that matter.

Because you see in all her twenty-four years on this earth she never had to do this before. Not even as a stupid sixteen-year-old schoolgirl. She’s never been careless (Not with _this_ ).

Then again, she never expected she would be:

A) In the middle of bloody Maine.  
B) In love with one of the town’s most dangerous men.  
C) Standing in front of a whole aisle of pregnancy tests on bloody Valentine’s Day, of all days.  
**D) All of the above.**

And you might ask _Why_ she’s here on valentine’s day if she was in a long-term relationship with a man that never passed an opportunity to show her off to the town? Because said man had texted her that afternoon with a quick apology that their night of _“debauchery and other vices”_ would have to wait and some rambling about an urgent job that she hadn’t paid much attention to as she texted Matthew back to let him know she wasn’t _too_ devastated about it. Her mind was too busy worrying about other things, namely whenever or not she should get a _very specific item_ from the pharmacy.

Which brings her back to the same thought again and again: These things are expensive.

 

 **Really** expensive.

 

They were overpriced pee sticks, for crying out loud. And what's the difference between them? Paying an extra five dollars wasn’t going to change the outcome, was it?

She's not dumb or delusional, as the townspeople would often refer to her behind her back. Jill knows the signs that have obnoxiously hung over her head these past few days.

She's late. Three and a half weeks _late_. It's far too much time for her to blame it on stress (and wouldn't you be stressed if you shared your life with Matthew? Stress had become a default mode for her mind and body during the last two years. And, sadly, this wasn’t one of those times when it would go as easily as it had come.)

Add in a newfound state of fatigue mixed with a persistent soreness on her chest and the ever-suspicious bouts of nausea at unexpected moments and you'll get yourself a big, red flag. If someone came up to Jill and told her that these things had been happening to them, the first words out of her mouth would be “ _congratulations_ ”. The sincerity of her words would depend on who that poor soul was.

But she also knows she’s not pregnant because being pregnant would unleash hell on her life. She’s buying the test so she can finally get Arabella off her back.

(“Oh, _sweetheart_ ” Bella’s voice had rumbled across the bookshop’s bathroom three days ago with a hint of ever-present sarcasm mixed with genuine concern.

“I used to be a nun. I know a girl in trouble when I see one” Jill had only managed to throw her a quick glare before emptying her stomach on the sink for the second time in less than four hours).

She would take the bloody test and get it over with and then maybe she would grab some Gatorade and crackers to soothe the persistent stomach bug that’s been ruining her mood for weeks (because that’s all there is to it. A bloody stomach bug).

"Close your eyes and think of England" she spits between clenched teeth before knocking a few tests into her basket with an impressive amount of determination.

She can do this.

Isn’t this some sort of milestone for your twenties? Going on a drinking binge, getting an apartment, a pregnancy scare and **only** a scare…

 

These are _normal_ things.

 

For the sake of appearances, she adds in some magazines and nail polish to her basket. She's under no illusion that this little piece of gossip won't be all over town in a near future but Jill's incredibly adept at playing pretend by now. And when she’s proven right (because she’s not pregnant. She commands herself _not_ to be pregnant) the buzz will die down on its own accord if she just decides to _not_ care about it in the first place.

The waiting line's short, even for Storybrooke. Jill easily spots Mister Gold and David Nolan ahead of her in the queue line, one of her hands reaching for the magazine she had taken before and she eyes it without much interest while partially listening to them. Maybe it would help her calm down.

“Two Valentines. Sounds like a complicated life.

 

“Oh, no, I-I just couldn't decide.”

 

So _that_ was still going on, surprising absolutely no one.

 

Her ears filter out most of the men’s conversation once her eyes landed on the rather _… colourful_ items the pawnbroker held on his own basket. She does not need **that** particular mental image. But there’s nothing else to do so she entertains her frayed nerves with some colourful and hilarious what ifs during the queue line in another attempt to calm down until the two men are out of her sight.

 

Mister Clark smiles at Jill when her turn comes and he’s a sweet man, she knows that much about him but the feeling gnawing at the pit of her stomach keeps getting worse and worse by the minute. She’s on the verge of running and just sending this entire thing to hell so she can go back to denial land when he offers her the bag with a smile. Idly she asks herself if pharmacists have their own version of a Hippocratic oath when he doesn’t comment anything about her peculiar purchase.

“Miss? Are you-”

“ _I’m fine_ ” Her voice comes out rushed and squeaky as she hands him the money and politely tells him to keep the change. If the man has anything to say about her behaviour she doesn’t hear him while she sprints for the exit door like a red-handed thief.

The buzzing sounds of the streets make her peacefully numb to the outside world, just her and her spiralling thoughts walking into the night.

 

**II.**

 

Jill stumbles into the empty apartment with a heavy heart, a queasy stomach and feeling incredibly grateful that nobody can see the mess she’s now with her shaky hands and laboured breaths.

 

She’s not afraid, she’s **panicking**.

 

God, she can’t be pregnant.

What is she supposed to do with a child? She had been the only child born to two parents that cared more about the status their little bundle of joy would bring them than they did for the girl herself. What kind of mother could she ever become if she had grown up starved for love and attention from the two people that were supposed to give it to her unconditionally?

And what about the father? Maybe she could learn to love the child and avoid the mistakes her own parents had made with her but what about _him_?

He loves her, she knows that much.

He loves her in a possessive, passionate way that easily veers into obsession. An obsession she returns _fully_. But it’s the kind of love that could easily drown them both if they weren’t careful.

Nobody around them thinks they’re going to make it. _They’re each other’s ruin_ they said. And god, she _knows_ they’re doomed in so many ways, how bad they’re for each other in other ways but she also knows she’s happy. She’s so fucking happy.

 _He makes me happy_ is all that comes to her mind when she looks down to her white-knuckled hands gripping the bag on her lap.

 

There's a ring on her finger.

 

It's simple but elegant and she found it a few weeks ago in one of her drawers, tucked inside a black velvet box resting peacefully between her earrings and one of his watches.

Jill had grown used to these tidbits of random affection, little presents and colourful boxes popping up around her as tokens of affection, so with a sigh of exasperated fondness she grabbed the box and opened the lid with giddy fingers. It could be a new necklace to replace the one she had lost a few days ago. Or maybe a nice bracelet to go with her pearl earrings…

 

 _This_ was different.

 

The ring’s cut was not the one you would find in a casual gift. It was far too elegant and well thought of. This type of cut worked for a very specific situation.

 

_He wouldn’t, would he?_

Jill had sat on the bed for a good five minutes inspecting every inch of the ring before marching over to the living room where Matthew was sitting in the kitchen island with a cup of steaming coffee on one hand and the paper in the other. He wasn’t going to propose, of course he wasn’t. He wasn’t the _“marrying kind”_ like Mrs. Redford used to say with an unhappy scrunch of her nose but for the sake of Jill’s mental peace she needed him to say it himself.

 

“Morning, darling” his eyes looked up before she had fully sat down in front of him, a smirk planted firmly on his face when he noticed how Jill held the ring at arms length as if its mere proximity burned her.

 

His face gave nothing away, just pure smugness.

 

 _Typical_ , she huffed and slid the box across the table to him. She would be as stubborn as him if she needed to.

 

"Well?"

 

"It's yours"

 

_Yours._

 

It was her ring because he _was_ proposing to her.

 

The frown on her face deepened as she stared distastefully at the ring on the table. He was doing it to drive her mad, she was sure of it. Only Matthew would be capable of turning a proposal into a headache. Couldn’t he be a grown-up about this? Couldn’t he have the guts to at least decently ask her _Would you marry me?_

 

No big romantic gestures needed, just a simple question.

 

"You're proposing to me?" Matthew raised an eyebrow at her, obviously amused at her reaction "You can't" she replied quickly as she realized she didn’t **want** to know his answer after all.

 

The frown on his face told her he wasn’t pleased with the situation either.

 

"Why not?" And now he was pulling the surprised card, acting like this kind of behaviour was acceptable. That she was being irrational by not understanding and playing along with it.

 

" _Because!_ "

 

“Use your words, love” Matthew was even willing to throw her own words against her, leaving her to scold at him in disapproval. She hadn’t brought up the idea of _marriage_ once, not even as a joke. This was all on him.

 

Well, he could take his precious ring and shove it.

 

“You’re impossible”

 

“So I’ve been told” God, he was never going to take a single thing seriously in his life and she was stupid to think he would. Jill huffed out her anger and disappointment when she stood up, fully intending to lock herself in their room for the rest of the day or find something appropriate to throw against a wall to let out her frustration before strong arms wrapped around her waist and pressed her against his chest, effectively keeping her in the spot.

 

“I don’t feel like _playing_ anymore, Matthew” She squirmed against him, slapping his hands away in a useless attempt to free herself.

 

“I know that being with me it’s not easy. That I’m not an easy person” his breath was hot and soft against the shell of her ear, making her squirming worse when he wouldn’t budge.

Damn him, damn him to hell and back for doing this to her

“But you must know that nobody ever had me the way you do” she had stopped fidgeting at the last part of his speech.

Jill _knew_. She knew perfectly well that he would kill anyone that ever wronged her and would burn the world if she asked for it. And she knew that for her (and her only) he was trying _not_ to. He was trying to at least control himself for her like she was willing to let herself be free for him.

And she wasn’t about to say that she regretted it.

This man would be her downfall in the same way she would be his. He would make her crumble to ashes and rise again time after time with only the idea of _them_ as an anchor.

He must have taken her silence as an invitation to slip the ring into her left hand and kiss the nape of her neck to put an end to their argument.

Jill couldn’t find the words quick enough as she turned on her heels to face him so she nodded slowly with a watery smile as her own promise of a forever finally slipped past her lips quietly “And nobody will have _me_ the way you do, Matthew”.

(She did not cry, there just was a twinkle in her eyes as his lips kissed her like she was the air and he was suffocating)

This was her life now. With every messy decision and uncertain step she had taken in the last two years she –and only she- had sealed her fate with the golden band on her finger.

_They said pick your poison so I chose you._

And maybe Jill is plenty of things but she’s always been someone capable of taking responsibility for her actions and her screw-ups, so she forces herself to walk into the bathroom to bite the bullet and face the music.

She lasts all of ten seconds before she throws the bag in the cabinet under the sink as far as it’ll go and fifteen before she calls Bella in the middle of what’s probably a panic attack.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up” The one time she needs Bella is the one time she decides to put her phone away.

It goes straight to voicemail the three times she rings her up and all it manages to do is frustrate her to the point she’s about to pull her hair off when she throws the phone on the couch.

Wonderful, just bloody wonderful.

Bella was going to owe her one and Jill was going to cash in that check big time once she was done panicking.

The dramatic schoolgirl she once was possesses her the moment she reaches over for a cushion to scream her frustration into a good five times before her responsible adult self kicks off the girl into the back of her mind and marches her self-pitying self into the bathroom.

_Breathe in. Breathe out. Repeat. Breathe in. Breathe out. Repeat._

The words on her head are a pattern. It’s something methodical she can relay into and distract herself as she goes through the motions the test requires.

She doesn’t think she could have done it if she didn’t distract her mind. Any other time she would chastise herself for using such a cliché but those two minutes until her phone alarm buzzes are the longest wait on her life. The entire experience feels surreal to her, as if she was watching someone else sitting at the edge of the bathtub and stare at the test on the counter with everything else happening at both slow motion and fast-forwarding before her eyes when she stares at the test on her shaky hands.

It’s positive.

 

 

**III.**

 

The pink line stares back, mocking her.

 

“Fuck”

 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

 

She wants to laugh. **That** was _exactly_ what had gotten her here.

How could she be so stupid? They didn't use condoms every single time anymore and she had been off the pill for almost a year. This sort of thing was bound to happen.

So here she is, sitting on the edge of the bathtub at 2:00 am staring at a positive pregnancy test. Same test she’s been staring at sporadically for at least two hours now in between puking her guts out and cursing everything she can think of, said test among them.

The _positive_ test. It's positive because she's pregnant. She's pregnant. Jill Redford is pregnant. She's carrying Matthew Kensington’s child and-

 

Matthew.

 

Matthew's going to be a _father_ and that's a new load of information she needs to process.

 

Blimey.

 

Matthew is...

 

Well, he’s _her_ Matthew. He's fire and impulsiveness and wildness packed in with a mop of brown curls and green eyes.

He's also ten years her senior, for crying out loud. This isn't the first time she's reminded of that fact but right now it perches itself on her shoulders like a heavy burden as she stares down at the stupid little stick on her hands.  Matthew is thirty-three to her twenty-four. He must have thought about this sort of things, right?

Oh, who is she kidding?.

Matthew is not the first person that comes to mind when she thinks of father material. He's not on her top five. Not even on her top fifty.

She loves him. She loves him against every reasonable impulse she has. And _because_ she loves him she knows that parents are a _delicate_ subject.

("They were gone one day. Vanished on thin air and never came back" Those were the only things that came up about the subject during one of their late night talks. Lucky, Arabella and his boys had become the family he needed after a rather  _peculiar_  childhood at the orphanage. A patchwork family she now was part of. She had no interest in knowing about people that had hurt him and he had no interest in sharing it.)

And oh god, Matthew and a child that will rely on him for guidance and love and to teach them the difference between right and wrong? Don’t make her laugh.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. She can’t think about this now. She can’t think about how deeply fucked they are at this moment.

She needs to find a way out of this. The first thing that comes to mind in her desperate state is that if she’s not pregnant then she doesn’t have to worry. Tests gave out false positives all the time, so if she took another one and it came out negative then she wouldn’t have anything to worry about.

Problem solved!

Half a gallon of water and three positive pregnancy tests later she’s back to square one. Also known as “completely fucked” and “up the duff”.

An upset sob comes out from the back of her throat once she slides down to the bathroom floor. It was useless. She can’t avoid it any longer and she’s so upset at everything that all she can do is let the frustrated tears run down her face freely with her arms wrapped around her knees.


End file.
